Excerpts:

From Chapter 1:

Wild edibles are "in." Magazines articles are exploring the subject from every angle, from edible garden blossoms to foraging for homebrewing and winemaking ingredients, while continuing education programs increasingly include courses on wild herbs and foods. The cause of this sudden resurgence is no secret; North Americans are seeking simpler, healthier lifestyles, and it's only natural (so to speak) that they turn to the most organic of foods, those that grow without any human intervention at all. A bigger mystery is why so few books address the concerns of the majority of wild food foragers. Though most of the interest is in the suburbs, most guidebooks emphasize rural settings. This book is out to change that. A new kind of guide that emphasizes foraging in one's own neighborhood, it bridges the gap between rural theory and suburban practice.

By taking advantage of little-known or forgotten resources in yards, gardens, and vacant lots, suburban dwellers can enjoy healthy and intriguing new foods, experience environmental dynamics first-hand, and get to know a fascinating, mysterious neighborhood other residents never see.

The conventional view of foraging, as gathering wild food and medicine is called, obscures the fact that suburban areas actually offer richer pickings than more natural environments. The botanical diversity of an established residential neighborhood, with its weeds, intentionally-introduced exotics, and feral or persistent plants, outstrips that of the average forest or meadow. Greater variety means greater opportunity for foragers. Certainly, the suburban environment presents challenges either absent or markedly reduced in rural areas. Chemical contamination is more prevalent, and there are a lot more property lines to deal with. Room for error is scant when surgically removing a dandelion from someone's lawn. But the territory is familiar, the variety superb, and the bounty just beyond the door.

Plant information:

Japanese maple's (Acer palmatum) just-opened leaves are one of suburbia's most surprising wild edibles. These delicate spring greens (if translucent red leaves can truly be called greens) bring stained-glass color and tangy, sorrel-like zip to salads and sandwiches. Floating on a bowl of miso or other clear soup, they become a sort of edible haiku, as much art as entrée...

Evening primrose (Oenothera ssp.) is an important herb to First Nations. Its resilient beauty and food value prompted European colonists to invite evening primrose into their gardens. By the 18th century it was under commercial cultivation as a root crop. But as rail and steam brought mass-marketing, evening primrose lost ground to more widely-recognized Old World crops. Evidently, the customer isn't always right; I doubt many people today would choose a parsnip over the radishy goodness of an evening primrose taproot. Yet parsnips are sold in supermarkets, while evening primroses are often torn out of the ground and pitched on the compost heap...

Landscapers prize Kousa dogwood (Cornus kousa), another immigrant, for its large four-petalled white or yellow flowers, sometimes tipped with red, as well as its blazing autumn foliage. But they grumble about Kousa's golfball-sized, strawberry-like fruits which litter the ground and squish underfoot in autumn. Kousa balls are sweetish and marshmallow soft when ripe, with a tender, pocked pink skin enclosing orange pulp in which small stones are embedded. Some enjoy this fruit raw, though I find the texture a bit off-putting. Kousa balls make nice sauces and preserves, particularly in company with tart, highly-flavored fruits, though some don't take well to cooking and should be used raw. A bit of experimentation will determine how best to use local fruit...

Identifying pineapple weed (Matricaria matricarioides) is a snap. Nothing else looks like it. More importantly, nothing else smells like it. Pineapple weed is a scrubby little plant whose leaves are so narrow they look like the feathery branches left after some insect has gnawed the tender parts away. Its flowers are pineapple-shaped cones without obvious petals. Their fluorescent avocado color, made famous by a million sofas in the 1970s, stands out against the equally unnatural sea green of the alleged foliage. Whether the common name comes from these groovy flowers, or the fact that the plant smells like pineapple when crushed, is a matter for debate. In any case, pineapple weed's overall appearance is more that of an aquatic than a terrestrial plant...

Pour 12 cups of water into a large pot, cover, and bring to a rolling boil. Allow the water to cool to room temperature.

Meanwhile, bring 4 cups of water to a boil in a medium saucepan. Remove it from heat and dissolve the sugar in it. Pour this syrup into a sterilized, nonreactive bucket or crock and allow it to cool to room temperature before adding the 12 cups boiled water (also cooled to room temperature) and the rest of the ingredients. Stir, then cover loosely. Allow the mixture to ferment undisturbed for four days in a slightly warm place, such as atop the refrigerator.

Strain the liquid through wet muslin into sterilized plastic soda bottles and screw the caps down firmly. (Sterilize the bottles by rinsing in a weak bleach solution and then rinsing again with clean water.) Store in a cool, dark place for at least a week. Carbon dioxide produced by continuing fermentation causes pressure to build up in the bottles, which in turn causes the gas to dissolve in the liquid. Progress can be monitored by pressing on the bottles, which become harder as the pressure builds. When the bottles are rock-hard, they should be stored in the refrigerator until use. (Elderflower champagne only keeps a few months.) They should be moved as little as possible to avoid stirring up sediment and interfering with the carbonation process. Particulates may form in the champagne during fermentation, but they are both harmless and tasteless.

Thoroughly blend the dry ingredients and spread the mixture on a dinner plate. Place the plate and the blossoms near the stove.
Swirl the oil into a frying pan and heat over medium heat, until a pinch of flour sizzles and browns.

Use a fork to roll five or six dandelion blossoms in the flour mixture. (They should be dewy from rinsing, but not wet.) Then drop them into the hot oil. Sauté lightly until golden, generally a minute or so.

Turn the fried blossoms onto newspapers or paper towels and pop them into a warm oven.

Repeat with the rest of the blossoms, replenishing the oil as necessary.

Reduce heat to its lowest point. Add the peel and marigold petals.
Warm the mixture over low heat for one hour. (Do not boil.)

Strain the infusion through wet muslin, then pour it into a sterilized wine bottle. (To sterilize, place two teaspoons of bleach in the bottom, half-fill the bottle with water, shake well, and drain.) Cork securely.

Place the rose hips and apples in a nonreactive pan and cover them with water. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer covered for about half an hour, until the fruit is soft. Allow it to cool to handling temperature, then mash it in the water. Cover the pan and allow the pulp to steep 6 hours or overnight.

Strain the juice through a square of wet muslin, then tie the pulp up inside and allow it to drip for several hours.
Return the juice to the pan, bring it to a boil and add the sugar. Reduce heat until a vigorous simmer can be maintained without boiling over. Cook, stirring constantly, until a spoon test indicates the juice is ready to jell.

Skim off the foam that forms on the top, pour the syrup into hot, sterilized jars, and seal.